


(All The Things) Come Back To You

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Series: Dream On [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, First Time, M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-12
Updated: 2011-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sam still asleep, Dean let himself think about all the crap he kept locked down when Sam could see him: all the worries about what had gotten Sam back and what shit might be waiting out there to take them down again, and mostly, what had really happened to Sam, all the stuff that his brain didn't know how to handle other than shutting it away and only letting it out in bits and pieces in his dreams.</p><p>Spoilers through 5.22; AU after that</p>
            </blockquote>





	(All The Things) Come Back To You

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to [Dream On](http://archiveofourown.org/series/6085) and will definitely make more sense if you've read that one first.

The weather stayed freaky. As far as Dean could tell, they got maybe a week of true summer weather before the weirdness moved back in. There were a couple of hurricanes pounding the East Coast, and while they were at Bobby's, the few times they'd been able to pick up a TV signal they watched drier climates fight brush fires and Switzerland deal with a heat wave.

"Switzerland," Dean said, turning off the TV in disgust. Sam was out of the room, so he muttered to Bobby, "What the hell did _Switzerland_ do to the angel-boys?"

Bobby snorted but didn't answer, just went back to watching Sam sit at the kitchen table and take notes in the ever-present composition book. Dean hadn't been able to get in touch with Bobby before he and Sam had arrived and it had been touch-and-go the first few minutes, Bobby covering them both from the porch with the Colt and Sam's memories coming back enough to remember Bobby but not enough to really know what the hell was going on. Dean figured he might owe Cas for watching out for them, giving them all enough time that Dean could convince Bobby not to shoot the both of them and get out the holy water and silver instead. Once they'd gotten through all that, Bobby'd sat down hard on the front step, staring at Sam like he'd disappear again if Bobby so much as blinked. Dean understood that.

The part of Sam's brain that was on gate-keeper duty was being damn stingy with the details. Sam had recognized Bobby as soon as he saw him--and had known the last few turns to the junkyard, almost laughing as he told Dean how to get there as they drove up--but other than the stuff he'd already dreamed, nothing new was popping up. Nothing about being possessed or opening the Devil's Gate or saying yes to Lucifer had leaked through. He spent his days skimming Bobby's library, cross-checking what he remembered and winding himself up more and more over what he didn't.

Bobby wouldn't talk about his own deal, warning Dean off the topic with a hard glare and a threat to throw them both out if Dean pressed the issue. Dean backed off and let Bobby send them out to comb through the junkyard for spare parts whenever Bobby thought Sam had had enough of the books. They filled more orders than Bobby had in a year, plus got enough stuff set aside for the Impala that Dean could rebuild her again if he needed to. Dean had to admit that it was good just hanging out with Sam; digging around all the cars gave them something to do and talk about, and took enough brain power that they weren't dwelling on Sam not getting his memory back.

"I know you don't remember this," Bobby said over supper one night, pointing at Sam with his fork and waiting to make sure he had Sam's attention, "but the last thing I told you was to fight like hell, and seeing as we're all here now, that's exactly what you did, boy."

"Maybe," Sam said. "But--"

"No maybes or buts about it," Bobby snapped. "Don't you go pushing anything. It'll shake itself free when it's time."

Sam looked a little startled at the fierceness in Bobby's voice; to tell the truth, Dean was, too. Bobby glared at the both of them.

"What if it doesn't?" Sam said, finally putting it into words. "What if it never comes back?"

"Then I reckon we say thank you for what we've got and mean it." Bobby shook his head. "It's not my life that's gone, I know that, but I'm not gonna be anything but damned happy to be feeding you two chuckleheads."

He pushed his chair back from the table and went to put his plate in the sink and that was the end of that.

* * *

Dean got lucky and got a call through to Lisa on one of Bobby's landlines. It was a shitty connection, but Dean was taking whatever he could get. Ben answered the phone and Dean got maybe two words in edgewise, what with Ben going off on how stupid it was that they were having to go back to school again, and early this time because of all the time they'd missed in the spring. He was gone just as fast, handing the phone over to Lisa and yelling his good-byes.

"Dean?" Lisa said, and the connection got good enough that Dean heard a door slam in the background. "Sorry about all that."

"I'm guessing that if he has that much energy to bitch about school, things are still okay there," Dean said.

"Or there's no limit to how horrible school is," Lisa answered.

"Maybe both?" Dean said, smiling at the exasperation in her voice. Sam looked up from whatever book he'd buried his geek head in, watching Dean for a couple of seconds before going back to his first love.

"We're fine. Nothing--" Lisa said, the connection crackling and hissing for a second before going dead. Dean swore and started redialing.

"Everything okay?" Sam looked up again from his books; Dean shrugged and hung up when the call didn't go through.

"I guess," Dean said. "She sounded okay, a little annoyed with Ben but…" She had sounded fine; Dean didn't think he was making that up to let himself off the hook.

"You can keep trying," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I guess that's what I'll do."

* * *

Bobby had a truly impressive ham radio setup--of course--that they used to contact people across the country and map out a pretty decent route to Palo Alto. The roads were torn up in a couple of places, but the people they were talking to had alternates that Dean could live with, even if they were going to end up doubling back once or twice.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asked. "It's more than a thousand miles and we really don't know what we might run into--"

"It was a thousand miles to get here, Sam," Dean interrupted, knowing good and well that it wasn't the distance that was freaking Sam out, but not sure if he was allowed to call him on not wanting to find out for sure that he wasn't going to remember. "We're good to go whenever you're ready."

Sam's eyes were glued to the damned notebook; Dean finally slapped his hand down on the page. "Dude," Dean said. "It's your call."

Sam finally looked up; Dean met his eyes steadily, a little surprised how easy it was to be that way again. Sam nodded, finally, and for better or worse Dean started packing up.

* * *

They took it in easy stages. Dean drove most of the first day, but he let Sam talk him into switching off for a couple of hours.

"It's a straight line," Sam said, pointing to the road with a calm that Dean knew was only about an inch deep. "It's not like I can't see everything that's coming at me for a mile."

Dean wasn't actually all that freaked about giving up the wheel to a Sam who wasn't sure he knew what he was doing. He figured it'd be like muscle memory or something. It was just fun having something to yank Sammy's chain over. The pissy little crease between Sam's eyes told Dean Sam knew he was being played, and that made it all the better. Besides, Dean figured he could yank the wheel and get them off the road in a hurry if he really needed to.

They hit a diner in the afternoon, too late for lunch but before the dinner rush started; other than the waitress behind the counter and the cook in the back, they had the place to themselves.

"What if it's the same thing?" Sam asked, while they waited for their food. "What if we get there and I don't remember anything else?"

"Then we find somebody to give us directions to the beach and we chill for a while," Dean answered, shrugging. There were plenty of days when he thought Sam not remembering wouldn't be a bad thing, except he knew Sam well enough to realize he'd never let it go. "It's not a race, Sam, and we don't have anyplace we need to be."

Sam shrugged and didn't say anything more. Dean figured they weren't done with the topic yet, but their orders arrived--hot open-face turkey sandwiches and mashed potatoes for the both of them; what with the flashbacks Dean still had to Famine, burgers and fries remained off the menu--and it was easy enough to let it go for the time being.

There was a little rack of postcards next to the cash register. Dean twirled it around while he was waiting for the waitress to finish up with her soaps and take his money. On the fourth spin, it occurred to him that he actually had people he could send mail to. He grabbed one at random and nodded to the waitress to add it to the tab, figuring they'd see a post office sooner or later.

Unexpectedly, the waitress said, "We got stamps if you want some. Mail comes around four; you can leave it and I'll give it with the rest of our stuff."

"Thanks," Dean said, scrawling a quick note to Ben and Lisa. Sam came back from the head as Dean was writing out the address, taking extra care to get it legible. He watched silently as Dean stowed the extra stamps in his billfold and didn't mention it until the middle of the next day when they stopped for gas. Even then he didn't say anything, only bought a panoramic card that showed the Grand Tetons and pointed Dean toward a corner mailbox.

* * *

They were halfway through Montana when the engine started running hot. Dean babied her for an hour, running the heater full blast to siphon the hot air off the engine, but the needle on the temperature gauge stayed stuck right on the edge of the red zone and he figured they'd best not press their luck. Sam was crashed out in the passenger seat, head pillowed against the window on a balled-up jacket; Dean managed to get the map out from under his thigh without waking him, and balanced it against the steering wheel to check out his options. They were coming up on a town; Dean hoped like hell it was big enough to have a garage that could deal with an older car. If it came right down to it Dean could do the work himself, get word to Bobby and have him send whatever parts they needed, but he wasn't sure how well Sam was going to deal with down-time.

With Sam still asleep, Dean let himself think about all the crap he kept locked down when Sam could see him: all the worries about what had gotten Sam back and what shit might be waiting out there to take them down again, and mostly, what had really happened to Sam, all the stuff that his brain didn't know how to handle other than shutting it away and only letting it out in bits and pieces in his dreams. Or, as their dad would have put it: SOS. The same old shit, just a different day. The one good thing was that Dean didn't have to worry about what Sam might really be--he'd watched Bobby check every which way and come up with nothing but Sam.

Sam stirred as Dean slowed at the town's edge, coming awake and rubbing his eyes as the road went from a relatively well-maintained state route to patched and uneven in the space of a block.

"Is it me, or does it look kind of… off," Sam said, jerking his head toward the little strip of businesses in front of them.

It was mid-morning on a Sunday, and gray and raw at that, so Dean wasn't expecting much activity, but even so, he had to agree. Main Street was deserted, the awnings of the local restaurant rippling in the wind, while the light at the railroad crossing blinked slowly, left and then right and then left again. The whole town wasn't much more than a dozen blocks square; Dean would bet the Impala that a block or two off the main drag--which was all of maybe four blocks long--the roads would be that kind of heavily oiled and compacted gravel and dirt that only passed for paved when it wasn't raining.

"Not just you," Dean said, with an odd reluctance. It used to be that the thought of a hunt got his blood pumping, but this was leaving him curiously flat. He pulled into a parking space in front of the hardware and building supply store and turned the engine off.

"Maybe it's quiet around here always," Sam offered, as though he caught Dean's mood.

"Maybe," Dean answered, getting out of the car and looking up and down the deserted street. He could see movement behind the big plate glass windows of the diner, so it wasn't a total ghost town. "We're usually not that lucky, though. Just in case you weren't sure about that."

"Yeah," Sam said, following Dean out of the car. "I kinda figured."

They crossed the empty street and pushed open the glass-framed door of the diner. Inside, it was as normal and routine as the street was weird. The breakfast rush was over, but a few tables were still occupied. A waitress wearing a denim shirt and jeans, with a long white apron tied over them, had coffee at the booth they snagged before Sam even got his legs situated under the table.

"Breakfast all day, or Joe'll slap a burger on for you if you want an early lunch," she said over Patsy Cline on the jukebox. She waited patiently, long dark hair feathered with silver pulled back into a high ponytail that swayed in time with the music, while Sam did his thing with figuring out what he hadn't tried yet.

"Wilkinson's, at the end of the block," she said once they'd each ordered a short stack with an extra side of bacon and Dean asked about a garage. "It's kind of a mess because of how they're tearing down the old high school right across the street, but they're still open."

"Any chance somebody might be around today?"

She nodded toward a guy sitting at the bar, more jeans and boots and long dark hair, this time in a low ponytail. "It's my cousin Tom's place, and that's him over there. I can tell him you're looking for some help, if you want."

"Thanks, darlin'," Dean told her, and then added to Sam, "Gotta love small towns."

"Even the creepy ones?" Sam asked, his hands moving restlessly in the way that Dean had come to figure out meant that he was itching for pen and paper to write stuff down. "I--there are a couple different ones, I think."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, little brother. There have been more than a couple creepy small towns in our life."

Sam smiled, a little, and shook his head. "They're all tangled up, right now. Hard to tease them apart, except you look different, even as an adult. Younger, sometimes. Not as…"

"Beaten down?" Dean offered, when Sam couldn't seem to find the right word.

"I was going to say not as tired," Sam said, taking a sip of coffee and making a face. Dean had to admit the stuff was strong enough to walk on its own, but that wasn't necessarily something Dean disapproved of.

"Call a spade a spade, man." Dean flipped him a pack of sugar. "We're never gonna get through everything if we're dancing around shit."

"Yeah, okay," Sam said. "You're right." He tore open the sugar and stirred it into his coffee. "You look better now."

* * *

Tom from Wilkinson's was okay with Dean bringing the car in, and even with Dean checking things out himself.

"If she was mine, I'd be picky about who worked on her, too," Tom said, the weathered lines around his eyes deepening in an almost smile. Sam huffed out a little laugh at that, which Dean assumed meant there was a little bit more in Sam's head background-wise.

Like he thought, the water pump was about to go; Tom checked his files and thought he could probably lay his hands on a replacement by end of day Monday, Tuesday at the latest. That was probably quicker than Bobby would be able to get anything to them, so Dean dug out some cash for a deposit and asked about places to stay.

"There are a couple of motels out by the highway," Tom said. "Chains. Pretty basic. Or my cousin Jennie, from the diner--she has a couple of rooms she rents out. They're right here in town."

"Works for me," Dean said. "C'mon, Sam, grab your gear."

"You don't even want to see the place?" Tom asked.

"It'd have to be pretty bad for him to even notice," Sam said.

"I'm not driving her," Dean said, slamming the hood of the Impala. "And I'm not hiking back out to the highway." He grabbed his duffel and started back out toward the street. "You got a problem with that, princess?"

"Let me guess," Dean heard Tom say. "Brothers?"

Sam laughed, and Dean had to admit it was a good sound to hear, even if he was tempted to turn around and smack him on the back of his head.

* * *

The room over the diner was fine. If you asked Dean, it was pretty nice except for the part where there wasn't a TV, but they were only going to be there for a couple of days and there was no guarantee on reception anyway. The windows faced out over Main Street; if they got really bored, they could sit around and snoop.

Sam looked at him like he was insane, but hey, the place was looking a little more alive now, and Sam was just pissy because the beds were twins and there was no way his ginormous self was going to fit.

"Dude, come on, there's food right downstairs. Open early and late, and enough of a menu that it'll take you a week to get through it even if we eat there all the time," Dean said in as obnoxious a tone as he could, because Sam getting pissed about Dean implying he was being whiny was better than Sam getting broody about how long it was taking them to get to California. Sam sighed and dropped his gear on the bed, and Dean poked and prodded until he agreed to go out and walk around town, see what there was to see.

Dean had to admit there wasn't all that much. Like he'd figured earlier, paved roads gave out after two blocks and the only stoplight in town was the one at the end of Main Street, right where the high school was, probably to keep the kids from tearing in and out of the field that served as a parking lot. For the rest of it, there was a dry cleaners and a post office and a small storefront with handmade quilts and sweaters in the window and a sign announcing that guitar lessons were available on the second floor. Railroad tracks cut the town in half, but as far as Dean could tell, neither side was the wrong side of the tracks. The best part--for Sam, and Dean was happy enough to see it for that reason alone--was the library tucked in behind the bank. It was small and old, but it was open even on a Sunday and Dean breathed a sigh of relief at how Sam perked up at the sight.

"Go on, you know you're dying to check it out," Dean said. "Go get your geek on."

"You could come in, too," Sam said. "What? I know you know how to read, remember?"

"Dude," Dean said, laughing. "Unless there's something trying to kill me, libraries are not my thing." He jerked his head back toward the high school. "Looks like the football team is scrimmaging; I'm gonna go check that out. You have fun with the books."

Dean thought it was healthy, him being able to leave Sam without completely freaking out, but that didn't mean it was easy. He walked quickly back down the way they'd come, before he lost his nerve. He thought he felt Sam's eyes on him but he didn't look back, just kept going until he got to the edge of the practice field where there was a fence to lean on and enough activity to distract him.

It was a small enough town that everyone already knew he was one of the guys who were waiting on parts for their car. Tom from the garage nodded to him--Dean figured out that he was there watching one of the wide receivers, who turned out to be a nephew--and a couple of people Dean thought he might have seen in the diner were standing around, too. The kids on the field were running without pads--no hits, only going through plays after the game the Friday before--and despite the first weird feel to the place, people were friendly enough, happy to tell Dean about the winning streak the team was on and how they were gunning for a state championship this year. By the time Sam showed up saying that the library had closed, Dean had sprung for a book of coupons to local businesses for the band fundraiser and promised to bring the Impala by the varsity cheerleaders car wash as soon as he was finished working on her.

"Buy one, get one free at the DQ, Sammy," Dean said, waving the coupons at Sam's arched eyebrow. "It'll give you a whole new menu to explore."

Sam rolled his eyes but let Dean take him down the three blocks and around the corner to start dinner off with a Blizzard. Sam stared at the menu board for, like, ten minutes, and then ordered an Oreo-M&M-Butterfinger-Heath Bar one, like he'd always done.

"It sounded good," he said, when Dean indulged in a little eye-rolling of his own.

"To nobody in the world but you." Dean licked the long-handled spoon he'd stuck in his Peanut Buster parfait--a classic, even if Sam had never gotten into it. "The rest of your brain might still be in a zone but your taste buds must be coming back online."

Sam looked at him as though Dean was feeding him a line just to cheer him up, but finally nodded and ate another spoonful of ridiculously jumbled candy and ice cream. They sat on the concrete wall bordering the DQ parking lot and watched the clouds roll in off the mountains.

"What did you learn today, Research Boy?" Dean asked, and let Sam ramble on about all the stuff Dean knew he'd just looked up. Neither of them was very hungry, but once the diner closed for the night there didn't seem to be much else in the way of food in walking distance, so they wandered back that way and split a couple of orders of chili-cheese fries and some onion rings to get them through the night. Their waitress was one of the kids Dean had bought the DQ coupons from, and he thought he recognized one or two of the football players bussing tables. It had been a long time since Dean had wondered what it would have been like to grow up as an insider in a place where everyone knew everybody else, but it still surfaced every now and then.

When Jennie came by to see if they needed anything for the room, Dean got her to save him some apple pie for breakfast. It wasn't an exciting night, but it was nice enough, at least until they walked back around to the outside staircase and half the lights along the street hissed and popped and blew out. Before Dean could do more than whistle in appreciation at the damage, the big crane parked at the edge of the new construction around the high school started tilting, leaning further and further over, hanging on the edge of over-balanced for a long few seconds before it fell with a groaning crash, the sound bouncing off the storefronts up and down Main Street. And like there needed to be an aftershock, the rest of the street lights blew out.

"Well, hell, Sammy," Dean sighed. "I was kinda starting to like this place."

* * *

The whole town came running at the crash, everyone yelling and fussing, but with an interesting undertone of here-we-go-again. Dean hung back, not crowding around the trashed crane; Sam did the same, and for a second Dean forgot that Sam didn't really know how they worked together, so it was a gut punch when he remembered. He shook it off quick enough that he was pretty sure Sam didn't notice, and motioned Sam back away from the crowd.

"Okay, so we're definitely back to the creepy side of things," Sam murmured. "Now what?"

"Now we hang out and see what we can see, because my EMF meter is back in the car," Dean said. "Act normal," he added, and Sam snorted. "No, really."

A county sheriff's car pulled up, blue lights flashing. There was some discussion about whether to call out the local volunteer fire department, but since there didn't seem to be anyone hurt and nothing was actively on fire, that suggestion was abandoned. The construction crew chief got there, adding some seriously creative cursing to the general noise level until somebody pointed out equally loudly that they were standing in front of a church, but generally, Dean thought things were pretty calm for having a thirty-foot crane fall over, as though shit like this happened all the time.

Tom was pretty annoyed, though. He came stalking out of the crowd, muttering under his breath, aggravated enough that he answered Dean straight up when Dean asked what was happening. "Somebody doesn't want this construction to happen and all Dave Cranston can think is that it's kids fooling around. For fuck's sake, how are a bunch of kids supposed to have done this? I swear, you'd think you'd have to learn at least a little bit of logic when you get a fancy degree in criminology."

Dean thought about the cops and sheriffs and deputies he'd run into over his life. There were a good number who'd been on top of their game, but the ones who weren't were generally spectacularly dumb. "Yeah, you'd think that but you'd be wrong."

"Well, calling him an idiot to his face isn't exactly the way to get him to see reason," Jennie said, coming up from behind them.

"Maybe I should have gone with Deputy Idiot?" Tom shook his head, and turned back to Dean. "Look, I can't raise the guys out at the junkyard I figure has the best chance of having your water pump, but they never have been too good about answering their phone. Figured I'd take a ride out tomorrow morning, early, roust them out of bed and see what they've got. You want to come along, make sure it's what you need if I find anything?"

"Sure," Dean said, slanting a look toward Jennie. "So long as I can get some coffee before I go."

"He may say early," Jennie said, nodding back at Tom. "But he's never in his life gotten out of bed before me, so you'll be fine."

They moved off to talk to some of the people straggling back down the street, leaving Dean and Sam a clear view to the school.

"I might have to have a little chat with Tom tomorrow," Dean said, watching as the construction crew stared helplessly at the big crane on its side.

"That sounds like a good idea," Sam answered. "I'm thinking I can hit the library, see what else has happened."

"Maybe it's nothing, like the cops say." Dean turned and started walking back toward the diner and their room. Sam fell into step next to him. "But it's not gonna hurt to check things out a little. Look for the weird stuff," he added, in case Sam needed a little extra memory boost.

"I can do that," Sam said, nodding, and it was just like old times.

* * *

Somebody finally got the deputy to shut down the lights on his patrol car, so at least there weren't blues flashing in Dean's eyes while he tried to sleep. The construction guys had fired up all theirs, though, and the blinds in the room weren't much use against the super-white halogen floods they used. It took Sam a while to settle, but once he was out, hearing his breathing made it easier for Dean to relax.

He woke up a couple of times during the night; both times, Sam was sitting on the floor under the window, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Both times, Sam waved him off when he asked if everything was okay, so Dean took it at face value and crashed back out. He moved as quietly as he could when he was up for good; Sam was asleep again by then and Dean wanted him to make up for as much of the dreams as he could.

Jennie had two big-ass travel mugs waiting on the diner counter, with a couple of foil-wrapped packets next to them.

"Tell Tom that's his cholesterol for the week," she called as Dean juggled everything out the door. "Yours, too, if you stick around long enough."

"My arteries thank you, even if the rest of me is crying," Dean said and let the door slam shut in the wind.

Tom grunted as Dean climbed up into his truck and relayed the message. "You'd never know that girl's five years younger than me, not with how bossy she is. Always been that way, even when she was just a little thing."

"At least her bossy comes with a side order of getting fed," Dean said, biting into the biscuit overflowing with eggs and bacon and cheese and, whoa, peppers and onions, too.

"Small mercies." Tom turned off Main Street and headed out toward the mountains, away from the highway. Dean finished off Jennie's breakfast, licking his fingers to get the last bits, and started in pumping Tom for information.

* * *

The sun was almost down as they came back to town, low slanting rays throwing shadows across the wrecked crane and the buildings. Tom let Dean out in front of the diner.

"Tomorrow morning," Tom said, jerking his thumb back to where the salvaged pump sat in the back seat.

"Thanks, man," Dean said. "I appreciate it." He could see Sam sitting inside, long legs stretched out and a beer that Dean was so stealing on the table in front of him. He had his backpack slung on the chair and what looked like a stack of copies from the library spread out.

"Successful trip?" Sam asked, glancing up as Dean dropped into the other chair. He went back to his notes, smacking Dean's hand away as he reached for the beer. "Get your own, leech."

"Dude, you always shared with me," Dean said, utterly failing to keep a straight face. "You should remember that, at least." Sam flipped him off without looking up, but Dean saw the grin he was trying to hide. "Got a water pump. Didn't find out a whole lot else, though."

"Yeah, me neither." Sam relented and pushed the bottle over toward Dean. "The school was built in the '60s, and it's been more or less falling apart ever since. The county keeps trying to build a consolidated school, but every time the town's rallied to keep this one." He flipped over a stack of papers, copies of newspaper stories of fundraisers and festivals and fairs. Dean thought he recognized Jennie in a couple of the blurry pictures. "They finally got some state funding to expand the building and update and--"

"Weird shit keeps happening," Dean finished for him. "Tom said they've had stuff happening all along--equipment damaged, cement dumped, surveying crew locked in the building--but nothing quite as big as last night."

"Whatever it is, it's escalating," Sam said, tapping his pen against the table. Dean nodded and went to get a couple more beers. He snagged a couple of menus from up by the cash register, too; Sam had all the papers stacked neatly by the time Dean got back to the table. "You want to check it out?"

Dean hesitated for a long couple of seconds. "Yeah, I think maybe so."

"You're saying 'maybe' because of me, right?" Sam said, quietly. "Because you're not sure I can handle it."

"A little, yeah," Dean admitted, because after all, he'd been the one telling Sam they weren't going to make it through all of this if they weren't being honest with each other. "There's a lot that can go wrong and this doesn't feel like de--like anything really bad, but you never know, not until all hell's breaking loose on your head."

"Yeah, I think I've got that," Sam said. "I don't want to be in your way--"

"It's not just that," Dean said, because again, it was the truth. It wasn't only that Sam wasn't going to be Sam here. "It's--I haven't done this, haven't hunted anything since--" He caught himself before he spilled too much. "For a while," he said. "Months, now."

"It doesn't seem like an easy life," Sam said, softly. Dean shrugged. "Do you want to check this out?" Sam asked again.

"I don't know that 'want' is the right word," Dean said, after a bit. "But yeah, I think somebody needs to see what's up."

"Okay," Sam said. "So what do you think we're looking for?"

"What do you think it might be?" Dean said, without thinking, and whoa, shades of Dad there: endless nights of research when Dean wouldn't let him stay up by himself and Dad only agreed if Dean sat there and worked with him.

"Could be a poltergeist," Sam said. "It's a high school--lots of kids and stress and drama."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I was thinking that, too, and trust me, Sammy, poltergeists are a bitch."

"Then we better eat before we go," Sam said calmly, and handed Dean a menu.

* * *

The sun had set by the time they finished with dinner, though the sky behind the mountains was still streaked with colors. Dean made a quick detour up to the room to grab an EMF meter and a couple of heavy flashlights. He tossed a box of salt into a backpack and decided he was as ready as he was gonna be to start back teaching Sam how to hunt.

Sam took the flashlight and followed Dean silently as he cut behind the diner and up the alley behind the rest of the buildings. Whatever was going on, they didn't need to stroll right up the sidewalk saying hi along the way. The construction lights were still on, but they threw shadows like crazy: deep ones, ones that were easy to slide into. It was just like riding a bike, and from how Sam stuck with him, Dean thought it was one more thing Sam didn't know he knew until it was right there in front of him.

They edged around the giant pile of dirt and rubble that used to be the gym, pausing in the shadows. Dean reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the EMF meter.

"Here," he said, handing it to Sam. "You do the honors."

Sam looked it for a second but got it turned on easily enough, and really, it was no surprise at all when the thing lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Okay," Sam said, looking around, and if his eyes were a little wild, Dean thought he was entitled to be freaked, what with how this was more or less his first hunt and all. "That's not good, is it?"

"No," Dean sighed. "It probably isn't." Everything looked quiet, though, so he jerked his head toward the remaining part of the building and held out his hand for the meter. "Come on; let's see what else sets this thing off."

It turned out that they got readings everywhere; sometimes they dropped to only three lights, but most of the time, it was off the charts.

"Something's been all over this place," Dean muttered. "A lot."

"Yeah, but what kind of a thing?" Sam murmured back.

"Could be any--" Dean broke off as an eddy of cold air curled around him. He heard Sam swear, and out of the corner of his eye caught a flicker of movement right before a wrench went sailing past his head. He jerked to a stop, then waved Sam back toward the new construction, even if that was right out in the open.

"Anything that can knock over a crane is just playing with us if it's using a wrench," Dean murmured. Sam nodded and backed slowly toward the street. Dean followed, equally slowly. The cold drifted around him, and he could see Sam twitching as it circled him, too, but it let them keep going, step by step. Dean was betting it would leave them alone if they got into the street, away from the school. The orange vinyl construction fencing was right on the edge of his vision, but right when he thought they were free and clear, somebody--a person, a man--shouted, "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" and it all came crashing down.

Dean could feel the thing, whatever it was that was stalking them, gathering strength, energy building up and up. The guy shouted again and Dean recognized Tom's voice.

"Sammy," Dean yelled, fumbling with the backpack, going for the box of salt. "Get him out of here."

He spared a glance and saw that Sam had Tom and was dragging him back, Tom still yelling. Dean figured a little salt might buy them a couple of seconds at least, but before he could do more than get the box out of the backpack, the windows across the front of the long, low building that had housed classrooms blew out, sending a blizzard of glass and brickwork straight at him.

He got an arm up over his eyes but the rest of him got hammered, even as the shock wave knocked him back and down, dropped him below the trajectory of everything but the leading edge of the stuff that followed it. Most of it crashed down past where he was, not on top of him, which was good, but he could feel the energy building up around him again, and figured he didn't have much time before Round Two started.

It took longer than it should have for him to roll over and push up to his hands and knees; his head swam and he must have gotten a cut or two around where his arm had shielded his eyes, because he was pretty sure it wasn't sweat he was trying to blink past. He made it three or four feet, shards of glass and bits of stone digging into his palms, when someone-- _Sam_ \--grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, throwing one arm over his shoulders and dragging him along, and, ow, fuck, Jesus, he'd definitely taken one too many in the ribs. Tom stepped up and took the other side, which Dean appreciated and all, but goddammit, he'd told Sam to get clear, and judging by the steady cursing coming from the two of them Dean wasn't the only one who felt the cold swirling around them, tighter and tighter, like their very own personal tornado. Dean didn't think they were gonna end up in Oz, though.

"Salt," he gasped. "Backpack."

Sam shoved him onto Tom and dove for where Dean had dropped his backpack in the general chaos of getting knocked ass over teakettle.

"Go," Sam snarled, and Tom kept them moving. Dean tried to make his mouth and brain work together long enough to make sure Sam knew what to do, but Sam was already with the program, tossing handful after handful of the salt back to where the cold was deepest. It worked, at least enough to get them across the street to the garage.

"I'm good," Dean panted. "Make sure Sam's--"

"I'm fine," Sam said, coming up to where Tom had Dean propped against the cinderblock wall next to the door to the office. "I'm not the one who got blasted--"

He broke off suddenly when Dean lifted his head.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded wrecked, and Dean straightened up in alarm. Sam was staring at him as though Dean was the ghost or spirit or whatever had just kicked the shit out of them, and okay, Dean definitely wasn't at a hundred percent, but he didn't think he was looking _that_ bad. "Dean, God--"

Sam reached for Dean, his hand shaking as he touched whatever was still dripping down the side of Dean's face, and fuck, Dean really didn't like how the rest of Sam was shaking, too, or how he was suddenly so pale he almost looked green.

"Dude," Dean said, breathing steady and even, because the last thing they needed now was for him to gray out and take a header. If Sam was freaking over some blood, Dean going down wasn't going to help matters. "It's a couple of cuts, nothing bad. Just, you know--you get cut on the head, it bleeds like a bitch."

Sam kept staring at him, long enough that Dean almost turned to Tom to ask if he'd lost an eye or something, but he couldn't look away from Sam and the naked emotion on his face. People were starting to congregate; Dean was vaguely aware of some of them staring at him and Sam and Tom, some of them crossing the street to the high school. Jennie was there; Dean heard her asking Tom what the hell was going on, but mostly his world had narrowed down to him and Sam.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered. "Come on, man, you're starting to scare me."

"Right," Sam said, blinking, and if his voice was still hoarse, he was making enough of an effort to shake off whatever had him freaked that Dean could relax a little. "Here," he added, digging a bandana out of his pocket and folding it into a square. His hands were steady now, too. "Let me put some pressure on that before you bleed out."

Dean automatically ducked away from the bandana--who the fuck knew what was in Sam's pockets, and he wanted to stick it on an open wound?--but Sam made a disgusted noise and held Dean steady, one big hand wrapped around Dean's jaw while he pressed the cloth firmly to the cut that was dripping blood into Dean's eye.

Dean hissed at the first touch but made himself stay still, closing his eyes and swallowing down the nausea from the sudden sharp pain on top of the dull pounding. He could feel Sam still watching him, and beyond Sam, Tom and Jennie and who knew how many other people, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He stood there and let the conversation flow over him, until Sam said, sharp and forceful, "No. He needs to get this taken care of--where's the closest--"

"Relax," Dean muttered, without opening his eyes. "I just need a shower and a couple of butterflies on the worst of it."

Dean could practically hear Sam gritting his teeth, but when he answered, he only said, "Fine. But I'm still checking you out when you're done and I _will_ drag your ass to a hospital if I think you need to go."

"Yes, dear," Dean said, more grateful than he'd ever admit. He wasn't in the mood to deal with civilians, and Sam in guard-dog mode was pretty effective in keeping people away. It probably had something to do with the snarl that was right below the surface. Jennie wasn't all that impressed, Dean could tell, but she let them get up to the room anyway.

"Where's the first aid kit?" Sam asked, sitting Dean down on a straight-backed kitchen chair, grunting in irritation when Dean told him it was still in the trunk of the car back at Tom's, where they'd just come from. "Don't move."

"Yeah, 'cause I figured I'd go try to pick up a little entertainment in this one-horse town with blood dripping down my face," Dean muttered as Sam headed back toward the door. He thought he heard Sam say something under his breath as he clattered down the stairs, his boots making a godawful racket on the metal treads. It sounded less than flattering, but Dean figured he'd let it slide.

Sam was back pretty quick; either he sprinted or Dean lost a little time sitting there with nothing but the pounding in his head to keep him company, but he didn't guess it much mattered. Sam took the bandana away and aimed Dean toward the bathroom, hovering not quite obnoxiously as Dean stripped off his filthy t-shirt.

"If I promise not to pass out and hit my head on the tile and drown, will you let me shower in peace?" Dean asked as he started in on his jeans.

"You know, not even you are stubborn enough to keep from passing out from sheer force of will," Sam answered, which was about the answer Dean was expecting, so he shrugged and finished stripping down, breathing a sigh of relief when the water came flooding out of the showerhead at something near boiling. He'd cleaned up in cold water often enough, but he wasn't in the mood for an ice bath tonight. Sam was a shadowy figure on the other side of the multiple layers of shower curtains--and at least the bathroom was clean and mildew-free, right down to the plastic liner. Dean could forgive a lot for that.

"You're gonna need to cut some butterflies," Dean called, hissing a little as the hot water got into the gash over his eyebrow. "Scissors are--"

"Yeah, got it," Sam said. "I don't think we really need to clean you up with holy water, but we probably should, just in case."

"Mother hen," Dean muttered, but it was SOP, drilled into both of them by Dad, so he let it go with the one comment and tipped his head back to let the spray hit it full-force. Before he could ask, Sam tossed him the little bar of travel soap Dean always kept stashed in the side of his duffel, and there were few things in life--not counting those rated for adults only--that beat getting all the grime and crap of a hunt off under a hot shower. Dean took inventory of sore spots but didn't find anything other than a couple of places that were likely to come up spectacularly bruised. Not great, but not bad after a showdown with a pissed-off spirit.

Sam had a towel waiting; when Dean stepped out of the shower with it wrapped around his hips, Sam's eyes flickered over him head to toe, lingering on the tattoo and the marks Cas had left, but all he asked was whether they just had to deal with the one cut over Dean's eye. His hands were quick and competent, but it still seemed to take forever to rinse the damn thing out with holy water and get the edges butterflied back together. Dean's headache had officially graduated to monster-sized by the time they were through; Sam shook out a couple of ibuprofen and dropped them in Dean's palm.

"I don't know," he said, looking critically at his work. "I still think we should get that checked out professionally--stitches, or glue, maybe."

"Dude," Dean said, shuddering for extra effect. "Stitches will scar and nobody is putting _glue_ on my face."

"Don't be such a baby," Sam said, washing his hands one more time and heading back into the bedroom.

"Just making sure we understand each other." Dean dug around in his bag and found clean boxers and jeans. He pulled them on and then sat down to check out the damage to his coat, which was thankfully limited to some smudges and scuff marks. The jeans he'd been wearing were a mess, though, and the collars on his shirts were stiff with the blood they'd caught. He tossed them aside and looked up to find Sam watching him, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"I can go find a laundromat," Sam offered.

"Yeah, might as well." Dean shrugged. "Grab everything and make a night of it."

Sam nodded and pulled clean clothes out of his duffel before disappearing into the bathroom to change, which was oh-so-princess of him. Dean thought he probably should give him a hard time about it, but his headache was only just starting to ease off so he settled for rolling his eyes while he found a clean shirt and finished getting dressed himself. Sam emerged from the bathroom and squawked for a minute about Dean staying in the room to rest, which Dean ignored. He did let Sam shoulder the bag of dirty clothes, though.

"I'm really not in the mood to deal with questions from Jennie," Dean said, looking up and down the street, hoping to catch a clue of which way to go. All the streetlights being out didn't help. "But I'd rather do that than walk around this town in the dark."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, and pushed open the door to the diner. There was a group of regulars clustered around the little TV Jennie kept under the counter; before Dean took two steps into the place, he knew something bad had gone down. Jennie waved them over, her face serious. There were about a million things Dean would rather be doing than walking across that room to find out what had happened, but his feet were on automatic. At least Sam was there with him.

The TV went to commercial right as they arrived and the group started breaking up, Dean catching murmurs of _how awful_ and _still not done yet_ as people moved toward the door. Jennie caught his eye and reached for the coffee; Dean nodded Sam toward one of the booths against the back wall and braced himself for whatever had happened.

"They say it's an aftershock from the bad quakes earlier this year, along the New Madrid Fault. Big for an aftershock, enough piled on top of the rest to knock out some dams." Jennie kept her voice low. "The TVA lost one, a big one; they felt the quake all the way up through Indiana and Michigan, east almost to the coast."

Dean really wanted to throw the mug of coffee across the room and curse Michael and Lucifer and every damn one of them for how their gifts kept on giving, but Sam was watching him, so he made himself take one slow, careful sip of Jennie's full-bore coffee.

"Hell," he sighed, keeping it to that. "You got a phone that works, Jennie?"

"Sometimes," she said. "By the back door," she added as she headed back to the counter.

"Lisa?" Sam asked, quietly.

"Yeah," Dean said, digging through his pockets for the paper with her number on it. "I mean, it's probably okay, but…"

Sam nodded. As Dean slid out of the booth, Sam asked, "You want me to order you anything?" Dean shrugged. "You should eat something," Sam said, with a look that said Dean didn't have much of a choice in the matter. "I'll figure out if there's a laundromat, but if you can keep something down--"

"Chill, Sam," Dean said. "Get me whatever."

Picking up the beat-up phone, Dean dialed slowly and told himself not to get all twisted up if the call didn't go through. Half the time you were lucky to get a dial tone at all, and that was with nothing but the stress of everything Michael and Lucifer had dumped on the existing infrastructure. Dean didn't have to be a genius to know it was going to take time--and a hell of a lot of money--to dig back out from all that. Add in all the stuff they'd just seen on the news, and there were a lot of things that were going to have to be right for Dean to get a call through. Even if he couldn't get in touch with Lisa, it didn't mean anything bad had happened.

He did a bang-up job on the pep talk, enough that when a barely awake Lisa picked up on the first ring, he almost dropped the receiver.

"Hey, it's me," he managed, before she hung up or the line went dead.

"Hey, you," Lisa answered. "Where--

"Everything okay there?" The connection was starting to get fuzzy.

"We're fine--oh, the earthquakes? We're good."

"Okay, good," Dean said, sighing. "Sorry to wake you up; I just saw the news and--"

"We barely felt anything here, not even enough to break any windows," Lisa said, her voice fading in and out. "Ben is bitterly disappointed. It's completely unfair, he says."

"I'd probably have been the same way when I was his age, but I gotta tell you, right now, I'm fine with the unfairness of it all."

"I hate to tell you this, but I think you might be growing up," Lisa said dryly, and Dean knew she was rolling her eyes at him. "Where are you?"

"Montana," Dean said, adding, "I found Sam," in a rush. The line went all static for a couple of seconds, but Dean hung on and it cleared up, at least enough to be able to make out words again.

"--found Sam?" Lisa was saying. "Is he--?"

"I don't really know," Dean said. "I mean, mostly, yeah, he's okay, but--" He stopped in frustration as the line staticked out again. "It's weird," he tried again, when the crackling stopped. "The whole situation."

"What isn't, these days?" Lisa said, quick and sharp.

"You said it," Dean snorted. "Look, I don't know what the deal is here, or what's going to happen, but we're on our way to the coast, so--"

"You need to do what you need to do," Lisa said. "When I told you that you could come back, it was an invitation, not an obliga--."

The crackling and popping got so loud Dean yanked the phone away from his ear until it calmed down.

"--my god, I _hate_ this," Lisa said, very faint and far away. "Dean, take care of yourself, and take care of Sam--"

"Lisa--"

"We are _fine_ \--"

With a final pop, the line went dead. Dean could try again, but it probably wasn't going to be a better connection. At least he knew everything was okay, and Lisa knew he wasn't dead by the side of the road somewhere, and that looked like it was going to have to be enough. He hung the receiver up and headed back into the dining room. The booth was empty and the duffel bag of laundry was gone, but Sam's notebook was sitting on the table right next to a mug of coffee and a slice of pie, cherry by the looks of it.

Dean got three bites in before Sam was sliding back into the booth, asking, "How'd you know that wasn't mine?"

"Because your menu-OCD has you somewhere between peach and raspberry." Dean took another thoughtful bite, and licked the back of the fork for good measure. "'Sides, cherry's my favorite; I get dibs automatically."

Sam snorted, but only stole some of the coffee, which Dean was prepared to offer since it probably had been Sam's to start, judging by all the sugar and crap in it. "I found the laundry place," Sam said. "Got everything going and figured I could settle up for the pie and then go put stuff in the dryers if you weren't off the phone."

"All done, Sammy." Dean scraped the last bite off the plate, then sucked a little smear off the back of his knuckle. It was good stuff; he wasn't going to waste it, no matter how pained Sam looked at his lack of manners. "You got cash?"

"I'm good." Sam dropped a couple of bills on the table. "You get the call through?"

"Yeah," Dean said, distracted by Tom walking in and making a beeline for Jennie. Sam made an impatient tsk; Dean pulled his attention back to their conversation. "Sort of--we talked for a couple of minutes, but…"

"But you still feel like you should be there," Sam said. "You know, you don't have to babysit me--"

"Not now, Sam," Dean said. Tom and Jennie were through with their whispered conversation and Dean wasn't happy about how they were watching him and Sam. "C'mon, move. We can have the stupid argument about how I'm not leaving you at the laundromat just as well as we can have it here."

He nodded toward the counter. Sam sounded like he was grinding his teeth, but he shut up and fell into step with Dean. They got halfway to the door before Tom cut them off.

"I think we need to talk," Tom said, low and serious. Dean sighed and Tom's eyes narrowed in annoyance, which was really too damn bad, given the way Dean's head was still pounding. "Yeah, sorry to put you out, but something's going on and you two are involved--"

"No," Sam snapped. "Not really, except for the part where I just dumped some bloody clothes in a washer and spent a good hour getting my brother cleaned up."

"Nobody asked you to go poking your noses into our business--"

"Because you guys were handling it so well on your own," Sam said. Dean sighed again and both of them turned to look at him. Dean rolled his eyes at Sam.

"Fine," Sam snapped. "Your call. But we're not doing this standing in the middle of the room." He turned and stalked back to the booth, not looking back. Dean would have sighed again, except he was starting to sound like he'd sprung a leak, so he kept it to a shrug and followed.

"Get Jennie over here, too," Sam said. "We're doing this once, and then I'm getting him--" he nodded at Dean, "someplace quiet."

"Seriously," Dean asked Tom. "How bad do I look?"

Tom slid into the booth and shrugged. "You look like you went a couple of rounds after last call."

"There, see?" Dean said to Sam. "It's not like that hasn't happened before. Chill." He turned back to Tom and Jennie. "Okay, look, you're not going to like this, but I'm not in any mood to sugarcoat it. Whatever is fucking around with the construction site, it isn't alive, not like you're thinking, and it sure as hell doesn't have anything to do with me or Sam."

"Not alive," Jennie said slowly. "You mean--"

"A ghost," Sam said. "Spirit. We thought maybe a poltergeist or a curse, but when we were up there it was cold, like a haunting."

"Oh, wait just a minute," Jennie said. "You can't expect us to believe--"

"Jen," Tom said. "I was there, and they're not kidding."

"There was something there," Dean said. "No doubt about it; whether it was a ghost or--"

"It was a ghost," Sam said, firm and sure, as though he had _any_ idea of what he was talking about. "So what we need to know is who--anyone who might have died there, or somebody who's gone missing, someone who died angry or might have a grudge. I can research it, but if you can at least give me a pointer, we can figure out who it might be and--"

He stopped as Tom shook his head.

"I--saw it," Tom said, and took Jennie's hand. "Saw _him_."

"Tom?" Jennie looked down at their clasped hands, and then up at Tom's face. "Tommy?"

"Who'd you see?" Sam asked, in that voice he always used on witnesses, the one that was quiet and sincere and invited trust.

"Jen, it was Bud."

Dean shrugged when Sam flicked his eyes over; it didn't mean a thing to him, but it had clearly hit some button with Jen. She'd lost all color in her face, and when she smoothed her hair back with her free hand, Dean could see the finest of tremors in it.

"It can't be, Tom--"

"Just for a second, he was clear as day, Jen." Tom nodded to Sam. "He saw it, too."

"I saw a man," Sam said, and Dean kicked him under the table, because, _hello_ , maybe Dean could have heard this a while ago? "No idea who, but yeah, I saw him."

Jennie looked at Dean, who held his hands up in surrender. "Don't look at me; I was on the ground trying not to get blasted." Her eyes flickered over the cut on his forehead, and then dropped back down to where Tom was still holding her hand. "While we're at it, maybe we could get a little clarification of who you're talking about?"

"Buddy was my older brother," Jennie said, short and brusque. "He was the sweetest guy you'd ever meet and he died last year in his sleep, upstairs in the room you're staying in."

"Peachy," Dean said.

"He wouldn't do anything like… this, Tom," Jennie said. "You _know_ he wouldn't. What they were saying, angry--Buddy couldn't hurt anyone; hell, he couldn't even stand it if somebody didn't have enough money for dessert."

Tom laughed a little and shook his head, but he kept holding on to Jennie's hand.

"We used to have major battles over that," Jennie said, looking back at Dean. She didn't let go of Tom's hand, Dean noticed that. She was clinging to it as though it was all that was keeping her upright. "I told him he was giving all our profits away, and he'd say he was okay with not making money for the week, I could have his share."

"You said he died upstairs?" Sam asked, shooting Dean a look like they were crazy not to have noticed anything. Dean shrugged, Winchester code for _Dude, you were there, too._ "Did he work somewhere, or--"

Jennie shook her head, and Tom sighed. "Bud was… well, I don't know that anyone ever got a diagnosis, but he was--"

"He was Buddy," Jennie said, fiercely. "We all looked out for him and we made sure he was okay, and he made sure we didn't get all caught up in the--the unimportant stuff and forget about _living_ , about taking the time to be here. He loved life; he would never hurt anyone."

"Okay," Dean said, with what he thought was damn good patience, given that his head was pounding and his ribs were stiffening up even as they sat around and debated the issue. "And you're sure it was him you saw?"

Tom nodded.

"Then if you can tell us where he's buried, we can take care of it," Sam said, quietly.

"Meaning?" Jennie asked, and the look on Sam's face twisted something hard inside of Dean.

"Jennie--" Dean started.

"No, tell me." She looked at Dean, and then back at Sam, who frankly looked sick to his stomach. "Why do you have to know where he's buried to take care of it?"

"Because the best way to take care of a ghost or spirit is to salt and burn the bones," Dean finally said.

"Oh, God," Jennie said. "You _dig him up_?" She turned and stumbled toward the back, toward the restrooms. Dean shrugged helplessly at Tom, who closed his eyes for a second, then nodded once and went after Jennie.

"I hate this," Sam said, almost to himself. "I don't want to have to do this, Dean."

"C'mon, Sam," Dean said. "It's--it sucks, yeah, but I can take care of it--"

"No," Sam said. "I don't want _you_ to have to do it either."

"It's the fastest way, man," Dean said. "I know you don't remember--"

"Don't," Sam said, and Dean shook his head in frustration but bit down on the impulse to tell Sam he didn't need this shit. He didn't, but he could understand where Sam was coming from. They sat in silence until Jennie came back, Tom following behind. She was pale and still, and looked a good ten years older than the woman who'd first waited on them.

"Is this him?" she asked, pulling a picture out of the pocket of her long apron and thrusting it at Sam. "Is that who you saw?"

Sam took the snapshot, handling it carefully. He looked at it for a couple of seconds and then nodded.

"You're sure," Jennie whispered, not a question, and Dean reached over and pulled a chair up for her to sit down in. Sam slid the picture over to where Dean could see; it was Jennie and a guy, Jennie wearing a sweatshirt from the diner and the guy in one that read _This Is Tiger Country_. He wore a big knitted scarf in the high school colors and they were standing on the fifty-yard line of the football stadium.

"He loved Tiger football," Jennie said. "He never graduated--never got past the eighth grade, and even that was mostly just because everybody loved him--but he never missed a game, ever." She looked up at Tom and smiled, shaking her head a little. "He went to practices and scrimmages and nagged one or the other of us into driving him to pretty much every away game, too."

"Jennie, look," Sam said. "We don't have to do... that."

"Sam--" Dean started, because what the _hell_ , but Sam ignored him.

"We could try to get him to move on--"

" _Sam_ ," Dean said, but it was too late. Jennie was all over the idea--not that Dean guessed that he blamed her. Hearing that two guys were going to dig up your dead brother so they could burn what was left of him was not something that would go over big with most anyone, but it wasn't good, what Sam was doing. It was only getting her hopes up and it was going to be a thousand times worse when they did have to go do the salt-and-burn.

"I need to talk to you, Sam," Dean said, interrupting whatever plan Sam thought he had going, the one he was selling Jennie and Tom on. " _Now_."

He got up from the table and headed toward the door, not looking back to see if Sam was following, because if he wasn't, there was going to be hell to pay and Dean absolutely did not care about Sam not remembering. Sam followed him, though; was right behind him when Dean went out the door and around the corner and into the little parking lot.

"Dean--" Sam started to say, and Dean knew that voice. It was the let's-be-reasonable voice, the one Sam had always used when he thought he knew better than Dean and it was enough to push Dean right over the edge.

"Don't you 'Dean' me," Dean hissed, shoving Sam back against the brick wall hard enough that Sam grunted as his back made contact. "What the _hell_ was that, Sam? Seriously--you can't just up and decide to take last night's dream for operating instructions and turn it loose on some civilian. That is _dangerous_ and you should know it, memories or not."

Dean poked Sam hard in the chest, and wasn't surprised Sam grabbed his hand, but he didn't twist it or push Dean back. He just stood there, one big hand wrapped around Dean's, and said, "I didn't dream it, Dean. I…"

He shrugged helplessly and it hit Dean, what he was saying, or trying to say.

"You remembered it," Dean said, his mouth and throat suddenly dry. "You… remember."

"Everything," Sam said. "Everything."

"Fuck, Sam," Dean whispered, jerking his hand out of Sam's. "Why didn't you--how long?" Sam stared down at where Dean's hand had been, and Dean maybe lost it a little more, because he didn't really think Sam wasn't going to talk to him, but some part of his brain didn't get the message, and from a distance, he saw himself shove Sam against the wall again and repeated, "How _long_?"

"Tonight," Sam finally said. "When I got over to you and Tom, and I--you were bleeding and I…" He stopped and looked down again, swallowing hard, but looked Dean in the eye and finished, "I saw you at Stull, after I beat you half to death, and it, everything snapped back in."

It was--Dean had too much shit in his brain to even try to come up with something coherent, but Sam was watching him like he had no idea what to expect except he didn't think it was going to be good, so Dean tried to pull himself together. "Lucifer," he finally croaked out, and when Sam only tensed up more, managed to add, "You didn't beat me up, Lucifer did."

Sam shook his head and if he didn't quite smile, he at least didn't look like he was braced for a punch. Dean took a deep breath and pulled as much of his shredded self-control together as he could. "Shit, man," he said, and grabbed Sam. Sam stood there for a second, and then his arms came up around Dean, tight and hard. All the air went out of Sam in a big shuddering sigh that Dean would so be giving him shit for, except for how he was doing the same thing. Sam held on like he was drowning and Dean didn't care, even if the bruises over his ribs were raising holy hell about it. He couldn't help grunting, though.

"Sorry," Sam said, backing off a little but still holding on. "Your ribs--"

"Are fine, Sammy," Dean said, but he stepped back a little. Sam nodded and let him go, and Dean gave himself a couple of seconds to wallow in all the crap that came bubbling up when he looked at Sam and it was _Sam_ , for real and true, looking back. "Stop mother-henning me."

"Sure," Sam said. "As soon as you can breathe without flinching."

"I was doing fine until you went all Sasquatch on me."

"Please," Sam said. "Who grabbed who?"

It was actually pretty ridiculous, the two of them standing in an empty lot in the middle of freaking Montana, arguing over nothing, stupid grins on their faces. Then again, what was his life if not ridiculous, Dean thought.

"Yeah, fine, whatever," Dean said. "We still need to deal with how you just set everyone inside up for--"

"I meant what I said," Sam answered, sobering up fast. "I--I just." He shook his head. "I am so _sick_ of, of having to destroy everything."

"Sam," Dean sighed. "This thing's already gotten pretty violent."

"I know," Sam said, quietly. He reached out, almost touching the cut over Dean's eye, stopping short of it. "I--can we try, at least?"

Dean looked at him carefully, because there was something more going on, but he was still a little off-balance from everything, so he was willing to let it go at that. For now. Sam watched him with an equal amount of care, and Dean found himself saying, "Yeah. Yeah, we can try." He shrugged at Sam. "I guess I'm kind of tired of it, too."

"Okay," Sam said, in a rush. "Okay--we can--"

"We go in locked and loaded," Dean said. "And the first sign of trouble, we're digging him up."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Yeah, of course. But you're okay with trying it the other way first." He smiled at Dean, as though Dean had given him every Christmas he'd never gotten growing up, and, swear to God, Dean got such a rush out of making Sam look like that, he had to roll his eyes and sigh, just to cover it up.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, turning back toward the street. "Come on, little brother. Let's go see what it's going to take to talk Buddy into going into the light."

* * *

"I'm coming with you," Jennie said, before Sam even finished explaining.

"Really not a good idea," Dean said. "This--"

"I don't care," Jennie interrupted.

"Could get nasty in a heartbeat," Dean finished, because it wasn't like he hadn't grown up having to talk over people to get his point across.

"I don't care," Jennie repeated, her mouth set in a hard, determined line. Dean flicked a glance at Tom, who nodded.

"Jen," Tom said. "I was there--you don't want to tangle with this, not if you don't have to."

"He's my brother," Jennie said. "Of course I have to." She and Tom went into some kind of wordless conversation that Dean knew Tom was going to lose long before Jennie smiled a grim smile and added, "Besides, he won't listen to you. None of you."

"She's right," Tom sighed. "We spent his whole life telling him not to listen to strangers."

"It scared my mother to death, thinking about what somebody might talk Buddy into doing," Jennie said. "But he always listened to me."

"I can't guarantee you'll be safe," Dean said. Jennie opened her mouth and Dean knew exactly what she was going to say. "No, that's not your brother up there. It's not, Jennie. It's… an echo. A bad echo."

"I can't just leave him," Jennie whispered. "Even if it's only a little bit of him."

Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged. He had that look on his face that meant he'd go along with what Dean said. Dean really didn't like the idea, but what did Dean know about sending ghosts on to their reward anyway?

"All right," he sighed. "But we're not going out there unless we have a damn good idea of what he wants."

"Okay," Jennie answered. "Let me get one of the kids to cover for me at the counter and you can tell me what you need from me."

"Jesus, Dad would have kicked my ass over this," Dean added, to Sam.

"Wouldn't be the first time Dad was wrong," Sam said, in an undertone, then hauled himself out of the booth to go get his research.

* * *

In the end, they pulled an all-nighter in the diner, going over and over everything Jennie and Tom could think of. Sitting did a number on Dean's headache and his ribs, but at least they were well-fed. Plus, Jennie's personal stash of coffee was enough to make a grown man weep for joy.

"A thermos of this and I could drive cross-country," Dean said, after the first taste.

"Yeah, we definitely need something to make you more hyper," Sam answered, but it didn't escape Dean's notice that he never had to get up to get a refill. It was still mother-henning, but Dean decided he could live with it.

They walked through all the basics--Buddy had died peacefully by all accounts; he hadn't had any arguments with anyone; nobody wanted to hurt him; he didn't want to hurt anyone. Even the opposing football teams were apparently part of his extended network of friends--he'd known everyone who went to college on a scholarship and followed their stats almost as religiously as he'd followed the Tiger players.

All of which sounded like a great life, but left them with nothing that was keeping Buddy around, no reason for him to be throwing tantrums with construction equipment, and no idea of what to tell him to get him to move on.

Dean didn't want to say so, but it wasn't looking good for the no-fire strategy.

Sam finally called a halt to the session a little before five in the morning, when the early shift cook came fumbling in the back door. Sam had that overprotective look in his eyes; Dean would have argued with him on principle, except that he really did feel like warmed-over shit, so he gave Sam a break and didn't argue, even when Sam made arrangements with Tom to have one of his mechanics do the water pump replacement on the Impala. Dean did, however, threaten to kick Sam's ass as they started up the stairs to their room and Sam made like Dean was too crippled to make it on his own.

"Fine," Sam snorted. "Is it okay if I stand behind you so I can catch you when you pass out?"

"You know, Sam, it's okay if you want to watch my ass. You don't have to pretend like you're back there to save my life."

As comebacks went Dean thought it was pretty weak, but Sam kinda choked on it anyway, so maybe it wasn't too bad.

"Just for that," Sam said, in a strangled voice that meant Dean really was making him insane, "I'm letting you bounce once or twice before I grab you."

That definitely deserved a comment or two, but Dean was halfway up to the room and his head was ready to explode and really, bouncing once or twice didn't sound all that bad, not if it meant he could get horizontal. He kept going, though, and managed to get to the top without completely embarrassing himself. Sam got the door open and Dean made his way to a bed without staggering. Much.

Sam thunked a glass of water down on the floor next to Dean and shook a couple of pills out into Dean's hand. Dean appreciated the water, he did, but the thought of sitting up long enough to drink it made his head swim, so he swallowed the pills dry and decided he could sleep with his boots on. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Come on, Dean," Sam sighed, fumbling at the laces. "Little help here?" Dean held his foot the way Sam wanted him to, but that was about as much as he could offer.

"You used to be better at the staying up for three days straight thing," Sam said, adding, "Getting old there, big brother?"

"Against all predictions, expectations and odds," Dean said, "Yes."

Sam's laugh was soft and surprised, and Dean felt his own mouth quirk up into a smile. When he opened his eyes, Sam was right there over him, one of Dean's boots in his hand and a rueful smile on his face.

"Hate to tell you this, Sammy," Dean mumbled as he dragged himself fully up onto the bed. Sam threw a blanket over him and then sat down to take off his own boots. "You're not such a kid anymore either."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Sam said, falling backward onto the bed and groaning.

"Anytime, dude," Dean slurred. "Anytime."

* * *

Dean slept like a rock, except for the part where Sam woke him up every hour to make sure his brain hadn't exploded or whatever. When he finally woke up for good, Sam was sprawled out on his own bed, reading, and Dean got to remember that Sam was really Sam, through and through. It made the minutes before he could get some coffee and more drugs for the now-dull-but-still-there pounding in his head a lot more bearable.

"How's your head?" Sam asked.

"I'll live." Dean stretched cautiously, wincing only a little when the bruises over his ribs woke up. "How's your memory?"

"Still a little muddled, but mostly there," Sam answered, marking his place in the book and setting it on the bed next to him. His movements were careful and precise and set off alarm bells Dean had forgotten he had. "You know," Sam said. "I was thinking--I mean, I remember stuff now, so we don't have to do this whole trip down memory lane."

"Yeah, sure," Dean said. He wasn't going to argue about not hitting Stanford; it was never going to be his favorite place and he could understand Sam not wanting to get near it either. He didn't think that was all that was going on, though. "We can go wherever."

"Yeah," Sam said, slowly, and more alarm bells went off in Dean's head. "About that… I think--It's okay if you go back to Indiana, to Lisa and Ben. You should."

And there it was, Dean thought.

" _I_ should go back," Dean said, goddamn amazed at how steady his voice was, and even more surprised that he wasn't pretending he wasn't pissed. "Me. And you'll be going… where, exactly?"

"It--I don't know," Sam said, shrugging. "I don't guess it matters."

"Really," Dean said. " _Really_?" He went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and pissed and stared at his reflection in the mirror while he washed up and splashed some water on his face. Sam was still sitting on the bed when Dean came back out. "Just like that, I'm gone?"

"I don't mean it like--"

"Then how exactly did you mean it, Sam?" Dean was yelling, and he really didn't care.

"I meant--you had a life and I interrupted it and--"

"Bullshit," Dean snapped. "We've been through this fifty times and I'm not buying it this time." Sam sat on the bed and looked at his hands. "Don't you lie to me, Sam. Not after everything."

"It would be… better if we weren't together," Sam said, finally.

"Is that what you want?" Dean stayed where he was; resisted the temptation to go shake some sense into Sam. That had never worked. Besides, Dean was getting all kinds of weird vibes off Sam. "Sam. Look at me and tell me that's what you want."

"It would be better," Sam repeated, and when he flicked his eyes to meet Dean's, Dean could read the truth in them, read that Sam truly thought it would be better. That still didn't account for everything else Dean was seeing in Sam's expression, though.

"Better than what?" Dean asked, and yeah, that was what he needed to find out, if the way Sam flinched at the question was any indicator. "Better than _what_?

Dean kept his distance and his patience and waited. Sam had always been able to out-stubborn him--hell, Sam could out-stubborn Dad--but Dean wasn't budging on this one. He leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door, and arched an eyebrow at Sam.

"Dean," Sam said, and Dean could hear the panic threading through his voice. It made Dean even more determined to find out exactly what Sam thought was going on. "Let it go. Please."

"Not happening," Dean said. Sam kept his eyes planted firmly on the floor. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. Not this time."

Sam shook his head, and when he looked up Dean could see fear, honest-to-god fear, more than he'd seen when Sam had walked away from him to go meet Lucifer. It drove him off the wall and two steps across the floor before someone was knocking on the door, pounding on it, and Sam was up and across the room, opening the door before Dean could tell him to let it be.

"I know," Jennie said, breathless and shaky, grabbing at Sam like she was going to drag him out with her right that instant. "I know why he's still here."

Sam threw one quick look over his shoulder at Dean, and then turned to go with Jennie, sort through whatever she thought she knew. Dean let him go, but that didn't mean they weren't going to finish this conversation later.

* * *

"The high school?" Sam said, in that neutral tone that Dean knew he pulled out when he was trying to not insult someone he needed to get information from. "He's sticking around because--"

"Because we fought for years to keep the school here, and he died before he knew we'd won."

Dean couldn't say he entirely believed what Jennie was saying, but Tom was nodding in agreement, and they were the ones who knew the guy in real life.

"This last round with the state and county was pretty heated--we got pretty much the whole town into the council meetings. It was going on right as he passed," Tom said. "And now, well--if you didn't know better, you'd only see them tearing down the gym."

Dean glanced at Sam, expecting him to be all over this if only to get out of finishing their conversation, but Sam just cocked his head at Dean, the familiar signal that it was Dean's call. That settled and smoothed some of the raw edges in the back of Dean's brain, the ones that whispered in Dad's voice that they should damn well salt and burn the guy and be done with it, because doing anything else would be putting civilians--not to mention Sammy--in the line of fire unnecessarily. Dean was honest enough to admit that if Sam had pushed him, he'd have ended up going with the knee-jerk reaction and nixed the whole thing.

"Okay," Dean said, slowly. "I never would have thought of it, but if you say it was important to him--"

"It was the most important thing in the world to him," Jennie interrupted. "Not the school so much, but… The whole town revolves around it. That's what he heard, over and over, before he died."

"More important than you?" Sam asked, and Jennie smiled.

"Oh, I was the solid thing, the one that kept life even. That's pretty boring, don't you think?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe," he said, not looking at Dean.

"Besides," Jennie added. "There's nothing wrong with me, and he never thought he had to take care of me--I'm not something he ever had to worry about."

"I think we're missing one big point," Tom said. "Whether or not Buddy knew or understood what was going on, it was something he knew _you_ cared about, Jennie-girl." Tom put his arm around Jennie's shoulder. "That always counted for a lot with Buddy. He couldn't do for you like he knew other people did for their family, but that didn't mean he didn't want to."

Jennie half-covered her mouth with her hand, and her face twisted up for a second. Tom hugged her gently. Dean pretended not to notice; Jennie didn't seem like the type who wanted people to see her emotions. He looked at Sam instead, and Sam looked back at him, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"All right," Dean said. "But if we're going to do this, I'm the one calling the shots--if it goes south, it's going to get there in a hurry and we won't have time for discussion. If I say we go to Plan B, we're going."

Jennie hesitated for a couple of seconds; _Plan B_ was a nice euphemism, but Dean knew she understood exactly what he was saying, and he could tell she didn't like even thinking about it. He couldn't blame her; it wasn't a nice thing to think about. It was necessary, though, so he kept his face impassive and waited for her to make up her mind.

"Okay," Jennie finally said. Tom nodded his agreement. On the other side of the table Sam relaxed a tiny bit, as though he'd been holding his breath waiting for everyone to come to an agreement.

Jennie refused a shotgun, but Tom had one that he went and got, and Dean let Sam take point on showing him how to repack the shell casings with salt. Dean made Jennie go find an iron poker; it wasn't much but it was better than nothing. Between him and Sam and Tom, he figured they could cover her if they needed to. He hoped.

In the back room, while they waited for the town to settle for the night, Jennie was nearly vibrating wth suppressed energy, nerves, adrenaline… all of them rolled together, Dean figured. Tom was grim and stone-faced with determination. Sam loaded the shotguns with a matter-of-fact calm, and Dean wished he could believe in something to pray to to get them through this thing intact.

In the end, it turned out better than he could have hoped. Dean dodged a couple of wrenches and Sam got knocked into a wall, but as soon as Jennie stepped up past them everything quieted down. Tom stayed right there with her; Dean could see how she leaned on him for support, but her voice never wavered--not until she finished explaining that all the construction was a good thing, that they'd won and everything was going to be better, and that Buddy didn't have to stay and fight.

"You go, honey," Jennie whispered, her voice cracking and tears spilling over to run down her face. "I love you and I miss you, but Mama is looking for you and you don't want to keep her waiting." It started to get bright, and Jennie nodded. "That's it. I'll see you when it's my time; you can show me everything when I get there."

Dean had to close his eyes then; the light was too much, like staring into the sun. Dean couldn't see how the whole town wasn't going to be tipped off, but at least it was over quickly. When he could see again, Jennie had turned so she could cry into Tom's shoulder, and Sam was solid and warm at Dean's back. Dean fumbled in his pocket and got the EMF meter out, not surprised but still pretty damn relieved at how it didn't find anything.

"We're clear," he said softly to Tom, who nodded and bent down to whisper in Jennie's ear. "Good call, little brother," Dean said to Sam.

"Thank you," Sam answered, and there was a lot going on behind his eyes. "For doing it this way."

Dean nodded, and started steering Tom and Jennie back toward the street before somebody got nosy and decided to see where all the light had come from. Outside the diner, Jennie rallied and said something about seeing what was in the cooler, and Tom offered to go get a bottle of the good stuff, but Dean waved them both off.

"You two, you should probably try to get some sleep," he said. "And thanks for the offer, but Sam and I have got things we need to talk about."

Sam heard him, exactly like Dean had intended, and he didn't say anything, but he didn't fight it when Dean got him going up the stairs either.

* * *

"Lucifer hated you," Sam said, low and hoarse, leaning against the wall and looking out the window.

"Yeah, mud monkey human, Michael's vessel, blah, blah, blah," Dean said, shrugging.

"No," Sam said. "That was contempt and maybe a little aggravation on account of Michael, but not enough to expend any energy on." He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed with his eyes down. Dean was getting really fucking tired of that pose, and the defeat that was written all over Sam's slumped shoulders every time he saw it. "He _hated_ \-- _hates_ you."

"Seeing as how he's the prince of darkness, I'll take that as a ringing endorsement," Dean said.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "I just--you have to understand that. He fixated on you."

"Sam," Dean said. "I got it. I'm Number One with a bullet. Awesome. That still doesn't answer what the hell is going on with you."

"It does, a little," Sam said.

"Sam--"

"Yeah, I know. Let me--there's no good way to say this, okay?" Sam glanced up at Dean and then went back to studying the floor. "I was there, in that cage for--a long time."

"Yeah," Dean said, taking a slow deep breath, and then another.

"He wanted me to be on his side," Sam said, quietly, and there was no doubt who _he_ was. "He wanted me to tell him he was right. He wanted me to, to love him."

Dean kept as quiet and still as he could.

"He was mad at first, but after a while he changed, went back to how he used to talk to me in my dreams. Reasonable and persuasive and--like a really good lawyer. He talked Michael into letting Adam go," Sam said, shrugging. "A show of good faith, he called it. The cage, it wasn't built to hold humans, only angels. Lucifer, really, but it held Michael, too. Once Michael let go, Adam was gone."

"That's… good," Dean said, one tiny bit of weight he didn't realize he was still carrying easing off.

"I didn't really think much about it then," Sam said. "But yeah, it's good."

It got quiet again, but before Dean could make himself prod Sam along, Sam shifted restlessly and said, "It didn't really change anything. And that made him more determined."

"You should have just played along, Sam. Let him think--"

"I couldn't," Sam said. "It was the only thing that was keeping me, me." He looked up then, straight at Dean, and didn't look away. "You. He kept trying to get rid of you, get you out of my head. The more he tried, the more I held on."

"I could have told him you were a stubborn bastard," Dean said. "Fuck, _everybody_ could have told him that. Too bad he's too smart to listen to anyone but himself."

"Yeah," Sam said, with a little laugh. "Too bad."

"What happened, Sam?"

"He told me you weren't worth it," Sam said.

"Yeah, big surprise there." That wasn't it; Dean knew Sam was dancing around the real issue. "Come on, Sam."

"He wanted to show me I was making it all up, that the memories I had weren't what I thought they were, but they--I…"

"You what?"

"He was right, but not the way he thought, only that made it better. He liked that, thought it was very fitting. That's when he let me go."

Dean was still missing something, but he thought they were circling in on it, on whatever it was that Sam couldn't tell him.

"What made it better, Sam?"

"That I love you," Sam said, very, very quietly, and Dean was _still_ missing something. Sam stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of Dean, every inch of him folded in on himself as though he was waiting for the world to fall in on him. He reached out and touched Dean's face, the backs of his fingers brushing over Dean's cheekbones, his mouth.

"I love you," Sam repeated, and Dean finally, _finally_ got it, the clue bus hitting him hard enough that he couldn't breathe for a second. Sam knew when Dean figured it out; Dean watched as his mouth twisted up into a half-smile that looked like something was tearing out his insides and he was pretending it was nothing but a scratch.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, dropping his hand and backing away. "I didn't want to have to tell you." He got all the way to the door before Dean found his voice.

"Sam, don't," Dean choked out, taking two steps off the wall before he noticed how Sam was braced to take a punch. Dean stopped and breathed out, slow and deliberate, made himself relax and watched Sam until he did the same. "Don't go."

"I need--I can't," Sam said, shaking his head. "I won't. I--need some air."

"Just, don't, don't fucking disappear on me," Dean said, staying back because Sam still looked like he was two seconds from running. "Please," he added.

Sam nodded once, as he fumbled with the doorknob, and then disappeared. Dean could hear him going down the stairs at what sounded like a dead run. He made it over to the beds and sank down on the closest one to take stock of where they were now. It was automatic, second nature, drilled into him over the years by Dad-- _you can't figure out where you're going if you don't know where you are_ \--except Dean knew Dad had never had anything like _this_ in mind.

Still. It was what he did: look at it all and try to figure out how badly they were fucked this time.

Sam was spooked, that much was for sure; Dean thought he might be, too, but mostly, he was blank. He should be losing it; he got that. He should be freaked out and bouncing off the walls. He just--wasn't.

He sat there for a little while longer, turning everything over in his head, looking at it from every angle he could think of. The sky was still dark when he stood, but there were a few cars moving on Main Street, and the lights in the diner were on when he got down the stairs. Jennie wasn't there--Dean hoped she was home, sleeping off the adrenaline crash of sending your brother into the light--but the kid behind the counter got Dean a couple of coffees to go and Dean set out to track Sam down.

It was pretty easy. Tom had left a message that they'd finished with the car and were parking it behind the garage; Dean found Sam sitting on the trunk, his arms wrapped around himself, as much to keep himself together, Dean thought, as to keep warm. He looked up as Dean got close, but his eyes were guarded and Dean couldn't read anything in the semi-darkness.

"Here," Dean said, holding out the coffee with sugar and cream, and shaking his head at the ice-cold touch of Sam's hand against his own. He unlocked the front door and dug around under the seat until he came up with a pair of sheepskin-lined work gloves. "I didn't drive halfway across the country and back to lose you to pneumonia, Sam."

Sam nodded and fumbled them on. Dean nudged him until he took a couple of sips of the coffee. Sam kept sneaking quick glances at Dean, but Dean ignored him until he stopped shaking from the cold and looked like he might not frost over in the immediate future. Of course, not saying anything had as much to do with Dean not knowing how the fuck to start the conversation as it did with making sure Sam didn't keel over on him, but whatever. Finally, though, Dean took a deep breath and said it. "Are you sure that wasn't Lucifer fucking with your head?"

"Pretty sure," Sam answered. "I thought of that, yeah, but--even before I knew who you were, when I was just dreaming about you, I lo--felt like that. And then, you found me and you told me who you were, and I told myself that it didn't go away because I didn't really know you were my brother." He shrugged. "You said it, and I believed you, but… I didn't _know_ it."

Sam looked back down at his hands. "I don't think it was him. He was so… pleased about it. Like it was something he wished he'd thought of himself, or like I'd given him this excellent present."

"I suppose it goes without saying, him being who he is and all, but that sounds just like the sick fuck."

"I freaked when he was letting me go," Sam said. "He really liked that; I think he might have held on to me if he could, so he could play with that some, but it was too late. I was gone before he could change his mind."

"You know, in a lifetime of fucked-up things, this is pretty much taking the cake, but good." Dean took a long drink of coffee. "I don't give a flying fuck why he let you go, so long as he did it."

Sam didn't say anything. Dean elbowed him and said, "Seriously, Sam. I know you're freaked out, but I'm not going to be anything but happy you're here."

Sam nodded after a bit, and then said, "I think it's why I didn't remember anything. I just… shut it out. Shut everything out. And then I remembered and…"

"You've been tangled up in that ginormous brain of yours, going around and around and around."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I kept telling myself I could deal with it, and then I'd be halfway to touching you before I even noticed and--"

"Like I said: round and round and round." Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. "I mean, I appreciate the concern and all--and thanks for not groping me in my sleep--but…"

"God, you're such an _ass_ ," Sam said, with equal parts frustration and aggravation and definitely a little laughter.

"Yeah, and you love me anyway," Dean said, with a pleased smirk. The whole situation was too weird for words, but it was good to know he could still needle Sam out of his mopey sulks.

"God, I do," Sam said, serious again, but at least not folded in on himself. "I really do, and I think I always have, and Dean, come on, this isn't something you can just crack a couple jokes at and make it go away." Dean started to tell Sam to calm down, but Sam _was_ calm, and he wasn't letting Dean get a word in edgewise. "You don't need to be here with me. Really, man--Dad and I--we had maybe one actual conversation in our lives, about what he wanted for us, school and a home, a family. He couldn't give it to you, but hell, even he knew that was what would make you happy--"

"That was a long time ago, Sam," Dean snapped. "And yeah, I managed not to completely screw over Lisa and Ben, but let's be real here. Do you honestly think that's on the ticket for me now? After everything?"

"You had some--" Sam had that stubborn glint in his eyes, but this time Dean knew better.

"Do you really think she'd want me within a hundred feet of her kid if she knew everything? The things I've done, Sam." Dean took a deep breath and pulled back from the brink, because him losing it over Hell--again--wasn't going to help either one of them. "Do you think anyone would want me, if they really knew?"

"I know," Sam said, quietly.

"No, you don't." Dean got off the trunk; he couldn't sit there, even if he didn't have anyplace he could go. "You don't."

"You told me," Sam said, keeping very still, as though he was afraid Dean might bolt.

"That's not the same," Dean made himself say. "It's different; you don't--"

"Lucifer showed me." Sam did move then, sliding carefully off the trunk and edging closer to where Dean stood frozen, the slender pillars of the life he'd managed to put back together all but crumbling under Sam's words. "He wanted me to hate you; he showed me everything."

Dean could only stare at Sam, the words echoing in his head. It was inevitable that someone would find out for real, Dean thought. He'd been waiting for it all to fall down around him; he realized that now.

"I knew it already, though," Sam said; Dean heard him distantly. "You told me--you trusted me with it, even though I didn't want to hear it."

"Yeah," Dean finally managed to say. "Yeah, I got you. We can--we can split up now, or whenev--"

" _Dean_ ," Sam repeated, and Dean shut up, and just waited for whatever was coming next. "Now you're ready to leave? _Now_?"

Dean found himself watching Sam, how alive he was, how the energy was all but vibrating through him--like when they'd get into an argument: something he cared about, but not something that was making him crazy the way Dad could most of the time.

"Why are you still here?" Dean made himself look at Sam, really look at him, not look over his shoulder or focus on his hair or any one of a hundred tricks he'd used in the past. It felt necessary to do it, so his brain would get the message on as many levels as possible.

"You know," Sam said, slowly. "I've been mad most of my life--mad at Dad, mad at you, mad at the world. Everyone told me it was bad, that it wouldn't help, but I couldn't stop. I hated so much, Dean."

Sam was looking at Dean, too; standing straight in the cold, clear night, his hands in fists at his sides. Dean could see that anger, pure and absolute fury drawn through every muscle, every edge.

"All that," Sam said, low and dangerous. "My whole life--none of it came close to what it felt like to see what they did to you. Lucifer--he maybe could have worn me down before that, but after? Not hardly."

Dean stood there between Sam and the Impala and completely failed at trying to figure out what might happen next. He thought Sam might go, or at least turn away and go sit in the car, but Sam stayed right where he was, watching Dean watch him, and fuck if Dean knew what Sam wanted him to do. It took three tries for him to find his voice.

"You don't have to stay--"

"Don't," Sam said. "Don't go there." He started to reach out toward Dean, but then dropped his arm and pushed his hand into the pocket of his coat. "I know. That's all I wanted to tell you."

Dean closed his eyes for a second; when he opened them again, Sam was still there, solid and real. Some part of Dean's brain was still functioning, turning Sam's words over and around, letting them settle. It was too early to say that he was sorting out where they were, but it felt like it might happen someday. For right then, the wind was picking up, sweeping down fresh and cold from the mountains (the mountains Sam had told him all about while they were sitting out on the wall outside the Dairy Queen, eating Blizzards like there was nothing wrong with this whole fucked-up life) and Dean could see Sam trying not to shake with the chill.

"Come on," Dean finally said, his voice thin and ragged, but steadier than he'd have thought he'd be able to manage. "We can't stay out here."

He turned and headed back toward the room, deliberately not looking back to see if Sam followed. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen and he'd figure out what the fuck to do about it then.

That still didn't mean he wasn't shocked as shit when he got halfway up the stairs and heard Sam's boots behind him. And it still didn't mean he had any real idea of what to do.

Sam, though--Sam came into the room and went straight to his computer, not even bothering to take off his coat or turn on a light.

"Here," he said, turning the laptop so Dean could see the screen, and then all but shoving it into Dean's hands. Dean tried to focus on what was on the screen--a small-town, badly laid out newspaper Web site, no different than any one of a thousand pages Sam had called up during their lives, but Sam was still talking and that was always going to trump everything else for Dean. "Earlier--before Jennie came up to the room… you wanted to know what I was going to do. This is it."

Dean looked at the screen again and pulled it together enough to figure out he was looking at an article about a string of weird occurrences, things with no reasonable explanation that anyone could come up with, still no different than a thousand other things Sam had shoved at him, and yeah, Dean might not have been firing on all cylinders, but he had enough brain cells working that it really fucking irritated him.

"You're gonna hunt? The thing you fucking hated all your life--"

"Not hunt," Sam said, before Dean could really get going. "Not exactly. What I said yesterday--I'm so sick of killing things, Dean." His voice was quiet and he still had a little bit of that defeated edge to him, but Dean could see the stubborn starting to wear its way through. "I thought, I don't know--maybe there are more things out there that will let go and move on."

"So your plan is to go be a… a ghost whisperer?"

"I guess." Sam shrugged. "It's not like there are hunters lining up to not kill ghosts."

"Sam," Dean sighed, but before he could go on, Sam had taken the computer back and was talking again.

"No, really, Dean--you tell me how likely it is that some trigger-happy hunter ever stopped to consider that there might be another way." He put the computer down on the table and stood there, hands on his hips, and Dean had to admit he probably had a point. Hunters did tend to shoot first and forget the questions entirely. "We've seen it more than once, and we weren't looking for it."

"And when it doesn't work?" Dean asked. "Because, yeah, we've seen it a couple of times, but I don't even know how many ghosts we've ganked, Sam."

"If it doesn't work, then salt and burn, I guess." Sam looked resolute. "At least I'll know I tried." He closed the laptop and started to sort through all the research he'd pulled together. "It's the first thing I've thought about doing that didn't make me want to beat my head against the wall."

Dean walked over and sat down on his bed. "And me?" he made himself ask.

"You should do something that doesn't make you want to beat your head against a wall, too," Sam said, softly.

"Straight up, Sam." Dean was so incredibly tired, and his head was pounding again, the pain like a dull pressure spider-webbing out from the cut over his eye. "Do you want me there with you or not?"

"You should do something that _you_ want--"

" _Sam_."

"Yes," Sam whispered. "I want you there."

"Okay," Dean said, groping blindly for the ibuprofen he'd left on the bedside. "You know where this candidate for moving-on therapy is?"

"Yeah," Sam said, in a hoarse, crackly voice.

"All right, let's go."

"I--are you sure? Even after. Everything?"

"Are you?" Dean swallowed a couple of pills dry.

"I am." Sam was back to the whisper, but Dean was intimately acquainted with the stubbornness under it. "It--I swear I won't bother you."

Dean wanted to tell Sam to shut up with the emo, but at the last second decided that might be a little too much, like he hadn't been paying attention or whatever. So he bit his lip and said, "Let's get the hell out of here, man. You can drive."

Sam kept sneaking glances at Dean while he packed, little looks that Dean ignored because he didn't really have a fucking clue what was going on, and even if he had, he sure as hell didn't know how to talk about it. Sam got all their clothes and shit shoved into their duffels in record time; Dean grabbed one automatically as they headed down the stairs.

Jennie was behind the counter in the diner; Dean pulled enough energy up from somewhere to put a good face on the conversation as they dropped off the key to the room. She made them wait while she wrapped up a couple of her breakfast sandwiches and poured out coffees. She wouldn't let them pay and pushed away the cash Sam left on the counter for the room. She didn't suggest they keep in touch, though, and Dean was pretty sure it was relief he saw in her eyes when they turned to go.

She must have called Tom; he walked up right as Sam wedged the duffels in the trunk and slammed it shut.

"Looking a little ragged around the edges," Tom said to Dean.

"Spending a couple of nights chasing a pissed-off spirit will do that to you," Dean answered. Tom made a wordless noise of agreement; he wasn't looking so hot himself, but Dean figured it was even worse if it wasn't your regular gig.

"Didn't expect you two to be hitting the road quite so soon."

"It's better to move on," Dean said. "Easier for everyone."

"Well," Tom said. "You're the experts." He sounded doubtful, but he let it go. He got Sam to pop the hood and showed Dean where his guys had dealt with the water pump. It looked good to Dean; he had Sam start her up and let her idle and everything ran smooth. Tom wouldn't take Dean's money either, just shoved it right back at him and told him to give it up or he'd call Jennie and let her deal with him. "You covered the parts; we're square with everything else," he said, and shook Dean's hand. Sam, he nodded to across the hood of the Impala. "Take it easy. Both of you."

"Same to you," Dean said, and got in the passenger seat. He'd been doing this all his life and there really wasn't anything even vaguely normal to say. He was used to it, but that didn't mean it wasn't awkward every damn time. Sam got them going; Dean stripped off his jacket and got it balled up to use as a pillow between the window and the seat.

"I figure we can head west a little and then cut south once we get to--"

"Whatever gets us there," Dean said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. The engine sounded good, sounded like home, as Sam pulled out onto the highway and picked up speed. "Just drive, Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam said, and maybe Dean was kidding himself, but all the strain was gone from Sam's voice. It was pretty much all Dean needed to let the hum of the car drag him under. "I'll do that."

* * *

Cas still wore the suit and trench coat, and his eyes were still impossibly blue. He sat next to Dean on a dock on a river, and didn't say anything for the longest time. As dreams went, it was pretty boring, except that Dean knew it wasn't a regular dream. He spared a thought about how much better weird dreams were when the person he was dreaming about knew Dean was there, unlike those weeks and weeks of dreaming about an oblivious Sam.

It was good to see Cas, however they could communicate these days; Dean wasn't going to argue with that, especially when there didn't seem to be any angelic emergency in the offing. It felt like Cas was there to hang out, which was A-OK with Dean. They hadn't parted on the best of terms; Dean was pretty happy to get a little evidence that they had the kind of relationship that could pick back up after something like that.

After a while, Cas shifted around like it was time to go. Dean cocked his head and asked, "So, was there a reason for this visit?"

"I did not think friends required a reason for visiting."

"You're right," Dean said. "I was just checking."

"You should not mistrust things that bring you happiness, Dean," Cas said.

"Yeah, and what the hell does that even mean, Cas?" Dean asked, and jolted awake.

It was still just him and Sam, in the middle of Montana, the Impala growling quietly under them. Sam took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot him a glance, but didn't say anything.

"Dreaming about Cas," Dean muttered.

"And?"

"He's still an uncommunicative fucker."

Sam snorted out a laugh, and Dean felt his mouth quirk up in response. If nothing else, it was really good to have Sam all the way back, to know that he knew what Dean was talking about. Dean reached for the rest of his coffee and settled back to watch the trees and mountains and the occasional sign fly by.

Sam was driving in silence, which was fine, Dean guessed. He personally would have had some music on, but he didn't feel like giving Sam grief about it. He actually didn't feel like giving Sam grief about anything. He sat there and drank his coffee and let his thoughts wander in the quiet.

"What?" Sam said after a while, and Dean came out of whatever zone he'd been in and realized that somewhere in there he'd stopped watching the scenery and started watching Sam. He realized a couple of other things, too, big things, big enough that he needed to think about them more.

"Just admiring your handsome profile, Sammy," he said, and then could have kicked himself when he saw the blush creeping over Sam's cheekbones. "Sorry, man."

"It's--I'm fine," Sam said, but he reached out and flicked on the radio, not even pretending to be subtle. Dean let it go, mostly because of all the shit that was bouncing around in his head and how he really needed to think everything through. He thought it was a pretty solid tell that he ended up right back where he'd started, his eyes tracing over every curve and plane of Sam's face.

"Next place you see that looks half-decent, stop, okay?" Dean said, quietly. He had no idea how he was gonna say what he needed to say, but he didn't figure he'd ever work that out without a little extra pressure.

"I'm fine, man," Sam said. "You don't need--"

"I know," Dean said. "This isn't about your driving."

Sam shot him a suspicious look, one that was exasperated and aggravated and so _familiar_ Dean couldn't help grinning.

"Humor me, Sam," he said. "I've caught what? Three hours of sleep in the last couple of days? And you're not even working on that much. Just find us someplace to crash."

"Fine," Sam muttered, clearly in a huff.

Dean maybe enjoyed it a little more than he should have.

Sam rejected the first three places they passed; Dean agreed with him on two, but the third one was Sam being pissy, which meant Dean would have to force the issue and insist on the fourth place even if it was crappy. Somebody--maybe Cas?--liked them, though, and the Grand Teton Motor Court turned out to walk that fine line between not being a dive, not being a chain, and not having the rooms decorated in any kind of headache-inducing theme.

Dean got them registered while Sam continued with the glowering. It was getting a little old, so Dean made sure Sam saw him shake out a couple ibuprofen. He didn't really need them, but he didn't _not_ need them either, and it was the easiest way Dean could think of to get Sam to let go of the attitude. This was going to be hard enough without Dean having to fight his way through a fit of Sam sulking first.

It worked, exactly like Dean knew it would--Sam's shoulders unknotting and the tight cast to his jaw relaxing by the time they got into the room. Dean was just congratulating himself on a job well-done when Sam tossed his duffel on the floor and turned around to study Dean, arms crossed over his chest and a calculating, inquisitive look in his eyes, the one that said he thought he'd busted Dean.

"Seriously," Sam said. "What's going on?"

"We need to talk," Dean said.

"Okay," Sam said, slowly, and that was Dean's cue, except Dean still didn't have a clue what to say. "Look," Sam added, after a few seconds. "If you've changed your mind, if you don't want to have to deal with this, with me, that's--it's…o--"

"No, it's not," Dean said. "It is not okay, Sam. It's one more time they thought they could jerk us around, and fuck, but I am tired of that."

Sam didn't say anything.

"All right, look," Dean sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "We're here: you realized… some things, and Lucifer decided to let you go, because he gets his jollies out of making people miserable and he figures that it's a win all the way around. Either you don't tell me and it eats away at you--which he knows is going to make me crazy--or you do tell me and I flip out. Either way, we're both miserable."

"Like you said, win-win," Sam murmured.

"Yeah, well, I got tired of dancing to their crappy, emo boyband music a long time ago." Dean took a breath and thought about dialing it down a notch, but couldn't, not when everything was riding on him getting Sam to believe him. "Listen, man," he said, crossing the room to grab Sam by the biceps. "We stopped the _apocalypse_ , and we did it by playing by our own rules. I don't see where this is any different."

"Meaning?" Sam breathed.

"Meaning this," Dean answered, and let go of Sam's arms so he could catch Sam's face in both hands and draw him down for a kiss. Sam's breathing hitched, caught in his chest hard enough that Dean could feel it, and he made one tiny, helpless noise before he wrenched himself back and broke the contact between them.

"Don't," Sam said, in a voice that wasn't much more than choking. "Dean, please. Don't do this just because--"

"I'm not." Dean made himself stay still, because Sam looked about two seconds from turning and running.

"This isn't what you wa--"

"Don't tell me what I want, Sam."

"You mind letting me finish a sentence?" Sam snapped.

"When you're too damn stubborn to listen to me, yeah, maybe I do mind." Dean eyed Sam up and down. "I mean it, Sam. Fuck Lucifer's game. Our lives. Our decisions. Period."

Sam looked at him for a long couple of seconds and then he was moving, lightning-quick and strong. Dean knew a split-second of pride that Sammy, his one-time clumsy little brother, could move like a fucking ninja when he wanted to now, but then Sam had him up against the wall and was all over him, his mouth hot and hard on Dean's, one strong thigh pressing insistently between Dean's, big hands stripping off Dean's jacket and sliding up under his shirt.

"Like this, Dean?" Sam stopped kissing him long enough to growl in Dean's ear, all but vibrating with how much he knew Dean was going to back off. "Is this really your decision?"

Dean knew that attitude, that certainty, in Sam's voice; the one that said he knew he was right, but only because he couldn't let himself believe Dean had any idea what he was talking about.

"Yeah, Sam," Dean said, shifting his weight and pressing forward to grind into Sam's thigh. "Really." He turned his head enough that he could brush a kiss along Sam's jaw, and then another, and another, until Sam was shaking against him. "Really," Dean repeated. There were other things he wanted to say, like _always_ , and _yes_ , and, most importantly, _mine_ , but Sam was kissing him again, deep and insistent, and who was Dean to stop him?

This time when Sam pulled back, it was only to get them moving toward a bed, and Dean moved with him, pulling and pushing at Sam's clothes, until they hit the mattress in a tangle of flannel and cotton and leather, Sam's hands greedy and grasping on Dean's ass, his thighs.

"Dean," Sam kept saying, breathless and shaky. "Dean, _Dean_."

Dean kissed him every time, until he was flushed and panting, still not letting Dean go, and Dean didn't know that he'd ever been wanted by someone as much as Sam wanted him now. It sparked along his nerves, made everything bright and sharp and electric, so that Dean was as desperate and needy and wanting as Sam, neither one of them willing to stop kissing each other long enough to do anything but tear at the buttons and zippers on their jeans, shoving them down and out of the way enough that they could grind against each other.

Sam made a helpless noise at the first touch of Dean's cock against his, and fuck if Dean didn't need to hear it again and again. He twisted and turned, hips moving against Sam's, and heard his own voice mixing with Sam's, just as wrecked and mindless. " _Sam_ ," he was saying. "Sam, Sam, _mine_."

Sam moaned low in his throat every time Dean told him he belonged to Dean. Dean wasn't going to stop repeating it, not when every noise Sam made went straight to Dean's dick, made him want it to never end, made him want more than he'd ever thought was possible.

Sam kept his hands moving, still greedy and possessive, and Dean was going to be wearing as many bruises from Sam as he was from the job. Dean maybe whined a little at that thought, or maybe it was that Sam had finally stopped fooling around and went for the main event, one big hand wrapped hard around both their cocks.

"Fuck, yeah, Sam," Dean groaned as Sam tightened his grip even more. "Fucking love your hands."

"Feel so good," Sam panted, jacking them both with a wicked, _wicked_ twist of his wrist. Dean felt it coming, felt it building in his thighs and belly and balls. "Want to feel you, all of you, want to spread you out and find out what it feels like to fuck you, fuck your mouth, fuck your ass, feel you come on my dick--"

It all slammed through Dean then--Sam's hand rough and sure on his cock; Sam's voice growling in his ear; _Sam_ warm and strong and eager against him, almost shaking from how much he wanted Dean--and there wasn't anything Dean could do but arch into Sam and let it roll over him, every nerve sparking into the next, jagged streaks of light and dark behind his eyes, Sam coming hard with him, staying with him, letting Dean hold him close and ride everything out, until their breathing slowed and evened and the rest of the world trickled back in.

Now that it was a done deal, Dean let it all wash over him, waiting for anything he'd buried to come flying out and attack while his defenses were down, stuff like how this really wasn't a good idea, and how the last thing he and Sam needed was to throw sex into the mix. All very important things to think about, but he kept getting distracted by Sam and how he was curved into Dean, half-asleep, breathing easy and deep.

"You're doing it again," Sam mumbled. "Staring at me."

There were a half-dozen things Dean could say to that--wisecracks, insults, jokes--but instead, he just said, "Yeah."

Sam opened one eye at that; stared at Dean suspiciously. Dean gave him a half-shrug, one that translated to _I got nothin'._ Sam quirked a smile at him and settled back down, still more-or-less boneless, but awake. He put his hand on Dean's hip, a warm heavy weight that sank into Dean, drew circles over Dean's skin with his thumb. Dean found enough brainpower to make a pleased sound; he wasn't exactly verbal but he thought Sam might want to know Dean liked what he was doing.

"We should clean up," Sam murmured after a while. Dean shrugged. "At least get rid of the rest of our clothes."

Sam maybe had a point, Dean thought. They were still mostly dressed and they hadn't slept the previous night, or much the night before. That didn't mean he didn't make a face when Sam hauled himself up and stumbled toward the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went.

The bed Dean was on was a mess; he gave himself a little pep talk and managed to get vertical long enough to get over to the other one. While he was at it, he stripped down, too, and cleaned up as best he could with a discarded T-shirt. The fact that it was Sam's was incidental, though he was sure Sam wouldn't see it that way. The blinds were still down and mostly closed, so the room was dark except for a few stripes of warm, late-afternoon sunlight on the floor.

Sam came out of the bathroom, hesitating between the two beds as though he wasn't sure where he should go.

"Dude," Dean sighed, and it wasn't much of an invitation, but Sam took the hint. His skin was cool but heated up fast, all except his feet, which were fucking blocks of _ice_. Dean hissed every time they got close to him, but then Sam put his hand back on Dean's hip and things settled down fast. Dean's eyelids were heavier every second; when he could keep them open, he could see Sam's eyes on him.

"Now who's doing the watching thing?" Dean mumbled. "Creepy. Stalker."

"Learned it from the best," Sam said, and Dean snorted.

"How long do we have the room for?" Sam asked, in between drawing those little circles with his thumb again.

"Paid for two nights," Dean mumbled. "Are we gonna need it longer?"

"If you think I have _any_ idea what we're doing, you really are crazy," Sam said. He didn't sound too stressed about it, but Dean made himself wake up enough to poke him.

"We're living, okay?" It came out a little loud, but fuck it, it was just him and Sam and it was important. "Okay?"

"Okay," Sam said, one side of his mouth quirking up into one of his lopsided smiles. Dean poked him again, and it turned into a full-on grin. "Ow, okay. Living."

"Okay." Dean settled back down on the mattress and let Sam put his ice-cold feet on Dean's. "Good."

**Author's Note:**

> Giant thanks to bientot, who kept reading and poking and cheerleading, even though it took me five months to write this; and to without_me who once again pointed out where it didn't quite hang together and fixed all my comma splices, too. 
> 
> whoooo! YAY! Now I can go watch S6!!!


End file.
